. The English dance of death, from the designs of Thomas Rowlandson;. d though, as we run, we may sometimes be past,We shall certainly win the best prize at the last. ENGLISH DANCE OF DEATH 219 Then let not the contests that happen in life,Engender Confusion, Disorder and Strife;Let us run where bright Virtue distributes the prize ;Tho we lose it on earth, twill be found in the skies. Derry down, etc. 220 ENGLISH DANCE OF DEATH THE DRAM SHOP A Preacher, I remember well,Whose fashion was blunt truths to tell,Harangud his Audience how to shunOld Nick, as round the world he run;And thus the favri
. The English dance of death, from the designs of Thomas Rowlandson;. d though, as we run, we may sometimes be past,We shall certainly win the best prize at the last. ENGLISH DANCE OF DEATH 219 Then let not the contests that happen in life,Engender Confusion, Disorder and Strife;Let us run where bright Virtue distributes the prize ;Tho we lose it on earth, twill be found in the skies. Derry down, etc. 220 ENGLISH DANCE OF DEATH THE DRAM SHOP A Preacher, I remember well,Whose fashion was blunt truths to tell,Harangud his Audience how to shunOld Nick, as round the world he run;And thus the favrite haunts defindOf the great Enemy of Mankind. Avoid the place where the profane1 Their faithless Mysteries maintain \1 Nor let those mansions be explord Where the Dice rattles on the Nor risk your Labours fair reward By shuffling the deceitful Card. In haste, pass by the tempting street1 Where the alluring wantons meet; For thus, as sure as Evils evil,* Youll meet that Spirit calld the Devil. But above all, as you would shun In Life and Death to be undone,. ENGLISH DANCE OF DEATH 221 1 Indulge not in the liquid ill That flows from the empoisond Stilly Thither the Fiend loves to repair, 1 And Death, too oft, attends him there; Who, in his never-ceasing rounds, The Still-man aids as he compounds 1 Each mixture thats in daily strife With Health, with Honour, and with Life. 1 The Dram-shop is the spot that yields 1 More various ills than all the fields 1 Where grow the Vices that disgrace 1 Th existence of the human race. 1 The Town with beggars it supplies, And almost fills th Infirmaries; Gives half their inmates to the jails, And multiplies the Hangmans vails. 1 —Question the sturdy Labrer, why He wears the rags of Poverty ? { Wherefore his well-paid, daily task Denies the Bread his Children ask ? 1 It is the Drams alluring cup 1 That swallows all his earnings up. { —Behold the squallid Mothers breast, By the faint, sickly infant prest, 1 That neer the milk of Natur
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